Hit Me
by Stained Blue
Summary: The pain tells me that I'm real.


Title: Hit Me

A/N: Owned by DC Comics, not me.

He's down on the ground, bleeding and that little sense of himself won't let him gloat as the beautifully terrifying Batman stares up at him.

Wild blue eyes have darkened in some unimaginable sort of rage and it makes the Joker shiver. It causes something in him to snap.

There's blood oozing from the small cut on Batman's neck, following the base of his neck; the first of many the Joker had managed to somehow inflict. A bloody smear is running from one corner of that prim and proper mouth, set in an almost permanent scowl. The Batsuit is torn in a few places, leaving little lurid flashes of flesh to tempt him.

"Hit me." The suddenly growled words have him nearly jumping from his skin, tastefully smeared makeup and all. He purses his stretched lips and stares down at the man in a moment of uncharacteristically serious humor. Batman rolls until his chest is bared and his arms are supporting his form from behind him.

Some kind of sadistic smile curls his lips in an unsettling way. "You know you want to."

Of course he knows he wants to, but the rage that is growing behind increasingly darkening eyes makes the primal part of him want to cringe away. His demented brain and twisted heart demand he draw closer to the downed predator.

He wonders what it could hurt, to jab a sharp stick down a very dark hole; to see if he could finally get that much wanted rise from Gothem's hero and force the Dark Knight to bend and then break.

Slowly, the Joker circles nearer his prey, staring down at the man on the hard concrete; staring down the man who's bleeding, bruised and yet somehow still smiling. If that slide of lips away from perfect teeth can be considered a smile.

Twisting closer, he pulls a sharp carving knife from one of his many pockets and grins at the man, feeling a little safer as he turns the glinting weapon over and over in his gloved hands. He crouches a few feet from the grinning Batman and begins to giggle maniacally. "Good to…finally…put a…smile…on your face…Batsy."

The Batman leans forward slowly, lips rolling even farther from sharp teeth to expose part of pink gums. "Hit me."

His eyes, a deep blue by now, glower; they're the colour of a bruise that has yet to begin to heal, the shade right below black.

Joker's brows knit together as he stares into the intense eyes; something's warring with the rage, a feeling Batman should be unable to feel. Terror.

He can feel the sudden intense feeling rushing through his bones. The Batman forces Bruce down, shoving the human down below the monster. Fear is grappling up his spine, sharp barbs digging into his soul and pulling his sanity down.

The blood is beginning to dry into a tacky substance, pulling at his wounds as he shifts to get a better view of the clown crouched near his feet. He forces the automatic grimace into a painful smile.

There's something pushing against his mindset, shoving against the wall built around his heart and he grits his teeth against the onslaught of emotions. He blinks.

Joker's fingers are fiddling with a carving knife, as though that will protect him from whatever comes forth from the black of his mind.

Slowly, the final barriers break and he begins to giggle; the crazed giggles morph into demented cackles as he throws his head back and begins to laugh uncontrollably. It's a pained sound, like the laugh is being forcibly wretched from his soul and thrown into the air to die.

Even the Joker cringes away from the sound, or maybe it's the tears that follow the laughs. The simple sight of the ominous Batman laughing and crying simultaneously, or perhaps the painted Harlequin knows that he's breaking. That everything is crashing down around him.

His arms give out and his head slams down into the hard concrete and he chokes on his watery laughs.

Suddenly, he lurches forward and a gauntlet-covered hand snatches at the collar of the Joker's shirt. He drags him close; until his nose is touching Joker's and the other man's poisonous green eyes are wide.

"Hit me." Once again, those prim lips have slid away and Joker wants nothing more than to recoil. The smile is terrifying and the vibrant blue eyes are crazed.

He wonders how Batman broke without him knowing it, how he teetered over the edge of sanity and down into some dark hole where not even he dared to follow.

So he does the only thing he can really think of, he rears his fist back and backhands the ferocious Batman. The grip loosens and the heavier man crumples, releasing him. He backs up a little.

The cowl is set sideways, thrown off track by the hit. Batman's eyes have grown curiously blank, dull and still the tears stream from them. Life snaps back into icy eyes and he suddenly fears for his life.

Instead, the cowl is being removed. This is not something he wants; he wants Batman to stay Batman. At least for the time being. He stumbles to his feet as fast as he can and kicks the other man squarely in the chest.

The muscled body jerks back and the cowl snaps back down. Batman rolls and gets to his hands and knees, panting and his foot connects with unprotected ribs. He can almost feel them crack under the pressure.

Batman just rolls off his boot and lies limply on the concrete floor. Blood is now pouring from his mouth, staining those perfect teeth still bared in a smile as he still laughs, as he still cries.

His own sanity rushes down past his ears as his mind screams for him to render the man unconscious so that he won't be able to get up and inflict the serious bodily damage he can. He brings the hard heel of one of his specially made shoes down upon the spine of the Batman, watching with a terrified glee as the predator slumps to the floor.

The glee turns into a soul-wrenching feeling as the muscled body shudders and shakes. Slowly, he nudges the large body over with his foot.

There's a sickening break in him, each blow of physical pain becomes a trickle of relief. It sets his mind shaking, and his heart and soul thrown into turmoil as the pain rattles his frame.

Each blow forces the Batman down, the terrific beast that had grown strong in the shadows of his life since that eventful day when he was young. All that fear had driven his mental state into a fork in an unseen road until it had split his personality into something that shied from everything and into something that conquered everything.

Batman was the reason he had been able to get past his parents' death, the brutal trekking around the world, and then falling deep into the seedy pit of Eastern Asia. Batman had saved him from his demented hero, Ra's al Ghul.

But, slowly, Batman is being chipped away to leave a startlingly young and frightened Bruce Wayne. By the time the Joker rolls him onto his back, the deranged laughter has died down with the last of Batman and Bruce Wayne chokes on silent sobs.

His eyes burn as tears fall like acid and trail down his face. He can feel the black makeup running from around his tightly closed eyes. Pent up emotional anguish rushes forth with all the power of a once dammed river set free.

He is reminded of the shrink he used to date, the one who told him that suppressing his emotions as a child had led to backlog. Now, all that backlogged pain was roaring forth to drown his heart and mind.

It feels as though physical pain is wracking his body and he curls up into a fetal position as he finally, completely and totally breaks.

The sound of the world has been turned down, and all he can hear is the rattle of his breath in his lungs, the choked sounds as his diaphragm tries to stretch away to allow his lungs to inflate, the rough thrash of his heart against the moist walls of his chest. The feeling of the concrete floor beneath him and the world spinning out of control around him; he can feel the vibrations creep through the floor to tickle at his frame as tentative footsteps draw closer.

His mind warns against it, but his heart demands that he check on the other. He doesn't have to touch, just make sure that Batman is still breathing and not choking on his tongue. His specially made shoes tap at the ground lightly.

Joker crouches down by the curled body of the feared Batman. The tears have died down but shakes rack his strong frame.

It startles him how fast the Caped Crusader broke and he knows, deep down, that he had at the most very little, or more likely nothing at all, to do with the sudden collapse.

There's very little thought in what he does. He can see his hand reaching out, can feel something foreign rising in him, and hear his mind screaming against it.

He does it anyway.

The feeling of a still warm body under his hand is a strange one, or maybe it's the fact that he knows he isn't going to kill this one. The glove stands out, stark against the black uniform.

Harsh remarks bite at his tongue but are forced away by his heart. He rests his painted face on the cool metal warmed by the body hidden in the suit.

"As…nice…as it is to…you know…know that you are human…don't cry." He pulls the heavy body over to lie on its back and brittle blue eyes stare up at him.

The gravelly voice is strained by tears, "What are you playing at Joker? Gonna get me when I'm down?" He wonders what the man's real voice sounds like.

"I'm not the one…hiding…from the world."

"Bullshit, you have two inches of makeup caked on." The Batman struggles to sit up, his cape falling around him in a comforting, black puddle as those eyes stare at him, haunt him.

"I'm an actor…this is my costume." A snort shakes itself free from the well-toned chest.

"In a play called Destroying Gothem with me cast as the hero."

He giggles, the maniacal bubbles of sound popping free from the walls of his chest. "Yes…yes." He clasps Batman's shoulder, feeling the muscles grow taunt.

"I've always wondered…"

"What?" He gives the Harlequin a look; he's slightly afraid of what the answer will entail.

Joker knocks lightly on his breastplate. "Are these muscles…made by Kevlar…or…or are they just protected…and this suit is formed to fit you like a…skin." He licks his stretched lips and gives Batman a devilish smile. "Aye…Brucey? Which is it?"

Somehow, it doesn't surprise him that the Joker knows. He pulls the cowl from his head and smirks in a way that makes the clown back up slightly, a little taken aback. "You wanna know what is under all this armor?" He slowly gets to his feet, Bruce taking full stage and the dashing little playboy reaping.

The look on Joker's face as each piece of armor is removed is priceless. Not even Madison and Katie look at him like that; well, they don't anymore. He throws the gauntlets to the floor and runs both his hands through his hair.

Left only in tight, black boxer briefs. He turns in place before stopping in front of Joker, smirking. "Real or Kevlar?"

Purring, the other man stands up and moves closer. "I'll have…to…touch…to be sure…of course."

Bruce rolls his eyes and flinches as he feels jagged nails and cool fingers touch his skin, poking and prodding. As the other pulls away, a smile curling his already curled lips and a problem rising in his trousers, Bruce grins.

"I take it that you like what you see?"

Poisonous green eyes lift to meet his, and he loves the shock that blossoms on the demented harlequin's face. "Do you spend your life finding voices to make people melt? Because either one you use makes my spine slide out of my body."

That imposingly well-built body, scantily dressed, draws closer and he shucks off his coat and throws it at Bat—no, Bruce. "Cover yourself up. You're liable to get raped out here." A smile curls at Bruce's lips, lifting one corner up slightly.

He can see a flash of perfect teeth.

The coat lays forgotten on the floor and Bruce draws closer; the smile is predatory and it scares and excites him all at the same time. "Really? Because I tend to be the ravisher and the only other person I see is you."

Is there a promise in that? He racks his brain trying to think of what this playboy billionaire who always gets what he wants might, in fact, want.

His heart, for once, decides to listen as his brain demands they scramble back. It's not long until he finds himself pushed against a wall and Bruce still approaching. Each roll and flex of muscle promises something that his body is really beginning to desperately want.

Finally, the other man is pushed flush against the Joker and it's all he can do not to bring him down and take him. He nervously licks his lips and looks up into the bone-dry eyes of the playboy.

"Well…Bruce…here we are. Are you…just going…to uh…let me get…away…" He doesn't even get to finish the sentence before a broad hand backhands him and its twin sweeps up and tangles itself in his hair before forcing his head back.

It makes him moan. The roughness of it all makes him harder than before.

The long fingers in his hair yank back and he can feel lips hovering over taunt skin, moist breath flaring and sticking to his exposed throat.

Panted breaths drag themselves pitifully from his heaving chest and he mentally berates himself for feeling like a teenager. For getting hard just from staring at the other, and then nearly cuming in his pants when he'd been pinned to the wall.

Now, his cock is throbbing in his trousers, aching for that big, rough hand to grab and yank and pull, as rough as he wants.

Barely dull teeth scrape upward along his neck and it shocks the breath from him.

"No Joker, you're not getting away that easily." The voice is dark, sultry; the voice of Batman combined with Bruce. A broad tongue runs gingerly over the curled edge of the harlequin's ear and the smaller man hisses, which lands him a brutal bite on his ear lobe.

Hard lips suck the wounded flesh into a hot mouth and his nemesis groans and clutches at him.

Bruce scrapes his teeth over the split flesh as he releases the pulsing lobe.

Under him, the slighter man yelps and begins to thrash. He presses his weight in warning against the flailing man. Joker stills and moans, slowly Bruce rocks his hips.

The Joker jolts forward to meet him each time, those jagged nails digging into his unprotected shoulders and down into hard muscle. He can feel sticky drops fattening and rolling down the sculpted planes of his back.

His hand grabs the Joker roughly through his slacks, stilling all thought of motion. He growls low in the sensitive whorls of cartilage.

Without any problems, Bruce tears the purple slacks off the demented clown, and shoves them down to his knees.

He doesn't have to glance downward to see the cock jutting forth, begging for a touch. His teeth bite at the long neck until they reach a collarbone. His free hand begins to undo buttons and spread the shirt and waistcoat wider for his roaming digits.

As his fingers range over skin pulled taunt over lean muscles and protruding joints, the Joker whimpers and moans and bucks beneath him. The fingers clinging to his back press closer.

"Please Batsy…"

Moans ripple in his ear and the whole thing makes Bruce smile. How the Joker went from a devilish fiend to the wanton in mere moments strikes him as oddly funny.

"Please what?"

Having to beg would normally make him feel depreciated and upset. But with Batsy, the words literally trip off his tongue.

He wants everything, will take anything, and wants to beg for nothing. Well, in the beginning. As that hot mouth continues to lay siege to his neck, throat, jaw, and ear, his resolve begins to crumble.

His heart pounds furiously against his breastplate and he's well aware of every little pitiful moan that leaves his mouth.

Lips linger dangerously close to his, he doesn't have to open his eyes to feel them, and a slick tongue darts out to swipe the seam of his lips.

Then the deliciously rough hands are forcing him to his knees, and then only the one tangled in his hair is left. It pulls him closer.

Without opening his eyes, he knows what's being asked of him and he chokes back the moan. It causes heat to boil sharply in the pit of his belly.

The fingers in his hair pull him closer, and he opens his eyes as he opens his mouth.

Rigid flesh forces its way into his mouth and he moans. The Joker draws back as much as the wall and fingers will allow and rubs his tongue over the head.

Bruise blue eyes are watching him, taking in every little move.

Batman pulls him forward slowly and he places a kiss to the leaking slit; the fingers continue to pull and he opens his mouth. He swallows the larger man whole and sucks sharply, laughing around the turgid shaft at the startled moan.

His mouth becomes a vacuum and he sucks heavy then light until he's sure he's driving the Batman insane. He giggles around the intruding flesh once more.

Just as he's beginning to really enjoy himself and get into, and seriously close to getting off, Bruce yanks him to his feet. The steely flesh slips free from his lips and the larger man pins him to the wall.

Cold cement blocks rub at the sensitive skin of his cock and he whines.

As he pins the Joker to the wall and listens to him whine Bruce runs his left hand down the clown's back. He pulls him away from the wall just enough to grab his cock roughly.

The Joker nearly melts back into him.

He growls softly in the smaller man's ear and begins to rub and pull slowly, maddeningly on the rigid shaft.

Joker shifts and thrashes beneath him, mewing and pleading incoherently. His right hand smacks the harlequin sharply on the ass. It makes the smaller moan gleefully.

"Please…" the other continues to beg. He begs for anything and everything, and Bruce intends to give it to him.

His fingers curl tighter and speed up, pushing his nemesis closer to the brink of bliss before he clamps down roughly on the base of his cock, successfully cutting off the impending orgasm.

When the Joker begins to thrash once more, he touches himself just briefly before swiveling his hips forward. The other cries out acutely in pain. Bruce continues to force himself into the tight, quivering body.

A head falls back against his collarbone and Joker's lips are twisted in a mix of pleasure and pain. His eyes are squinted shut and his breath falling heavily from his nose.

"Did you like that?"

Bruce shifts his hips, pulling out just barely before thrusting back in. The Joker moans and he chuckles.

Dulled green eyes jolt open and glare at him. As curled red lips part to speak, he forces the Joker's head against the wall with his right hand.

As the other moans, his hips fall into a rhythm he rarely uses. Instinct takes over and his thrusts are sharp and punctuated.

Each one brings a cry to Joker's throat; each cry is full of pleasure and makes the other seem the wanton; and each cry intermingles with his name.

Every thrust and each cry pulls him toward release and his left hand curls around the clown's cock once more and he begins to pull. For every thrust, he yanks roughly twice on the flesh in his hand.

Joker continues to thrash and moan and writhe beneath him, the sounds taking on a more shrill pitch.

His hips drive into the tight body sharper, faster and deeper.

The body under him tenses and gives a final shuddering cry as the Joker hits it hard, his release coating the wall and Bruce's hand. He continues to drive hard into the contracting body until he too finds release.

"Well that was…interesting. Eh Batsy?"

He can feel shuddering breaths touching the back of his neck and Bruce bites his shoulder roughly before pulling away.

As he turns around to lean on the wall, watching Bruce Wayne turn back into Batman, he can't help but smile.

"Hit me."

Batman doesn't even look up.

"Com'on…you know you want to."

Bruise coloured eyes lift to his and the muscled body launches forward, pressing hard against his own pleasure weakened form. Lips curl away from perfect teeth before smashing to his.

Under the onslaught, he moans. He arches up and grinds into the Kevlar suit and wishes it were skin instead.

When the lips fall away and trail down his neck, he giggles.

"Please…"

The Batman pulls away and stares at him blankly. "Please what?"

"Hit me…" He nearly moans the words at the other, who smiles suddenly.

A fist smashes into his jaw and sends him sliding down the wall. He smiles, with blood leaking from his lips, at the Batman slowly stalking away.

When the shadows swallow his foe, he begins to laugh. It's a mix between crazed giggles and the cackle of a dementia patient. He tilts his head up and laughs at the ceiling.

It's relatively easily to ignore the straggling tears streaking down and smearing his already tastefully smeared makeup.


End file.
